


"Said Im blood shot for sure"

by MoxFirefly



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Language, Slight fluff, Wax Play, domestic living i had to, wybrose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 09:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5491775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoxFirefly/pseuds/MoxFirefly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>But theirs is a sick thing. Sprinkled with normalcy here and there.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Said Im blood shot for sure"

**Author's Note:**

> I love wybrose, and I wrote this a while back because Im all for established relationship/domestic living wybrose as much as fucked up/problematic wybrose.
> 
> Needless to say, hope y'all enjoy.

"So it's a bunch of dead birds, and you got the crucifixion scene on the other arm with a neat-o red upside down cross? I mean, what's the deal?" Dean had the brunettes right arm in his grasp, fingers tracing one of the birds with its ribcage opened up. He'd always figured he'd get a tattoo by now but it just never really seemed to happen. Roman had joked about taking him to a parlor and making sure he left with some part of his body covered in ink. Oddly enough it just never seemed to happen, he figured he'd find something by now that would literally pester him enough to get it on his body permanently. "Your point sweetheart?" Bray was lounging on the couch, feet propped up on the end table while Dean examined him. He turned to look at the blond who was preoccupied with looking over the design on his arm. "I don't know, just seems kinda like an oxymoron type of thing." Bray could only chuckle.

He understood Dean's point, but he was just surreal like that. Getting the crucifixion on his other arm was more of a token to his youth. "My daddy used to drag me to church every Sunday and Tuesday. It was his only days without hitting the bottle and in turn not hitting me. I never really liked it, never got the gist of it but I found it appealing how everyone held on to every single word the preacher spoke as if he could actually offer real absolution." Dean for once was quiet, his eyes fixed on the other man. Bray continued with his tale. "I liked reading the bible, as a work of fiction it's probably the best read but I wasn't one to just fall into the sheep and digest every single sentence on it. I used to buy other books, hide them in the attic cause I would get a good beating if I was caught reading things not related to the good book. What I took from those younger days was, to be admired, to be the one leading the blind." Dean blinked several times, it seemed that for the first time he'd actual understood what Bray meant, maybe he was spending too much time with him.

"And your tattoos, did he approve of that?" Curiosity edged his voice. Bray shook his head. "I got the leg one first, thought I could hide it but he saw it, gave me a good beating and threatened to rip the skin off if need be." Dean's eyes casted down to Bray's leg, the intricate pattern that circled his shin was one of the most hidden he had. "So…?" Dean edged on, his attention completely caught with the tale. "He died a few days after that." Bray spoke, almost bored like. The blonds eyes went a little bug eyed, definitely a twist. They knew more about each other but family and tales of broken homes were kinda left to just walk around. Sure Dean's past had been more exposed during his indy years, and Bray offered cryptic monologues of his own, but never a time or a full fledged story like this one had been given. Dean opted not to press on further, the death surrounding Bray's father was never really fully explained and there did lie a nagging sense that he had something to do with it. But Dean remained silent, by the sound of it the man was no different than his mothers countless dirtbag boyfriends.

An awkward silence fell briefly before Dean did his best to change his composure. "Did the back one hurt? Shit must've taken hours. I went with Ro to one of his sessions for his Samoan tribal thing, two fucking hours and they weren't even at his elbow." During that time he had been really tempted into getting something just to pass the time but again, distractions and lack of knowing what to get made it not happen. "It took several sessions, but after a while your skin tends to go numb. Why so many questions? You wanna get something?" Bray smirked and chuckled when Dean shook his head frantically. "Fuck no…I mean, nah fuck no. I don't know." His lower lip pout was precious to say the least. "Whatever you get, make it tasteful." Was Bray's only request.

"Im gonna get a tramp stamp then." Dean declared smug.

"Darlin, you don't need a stamp to declare that." The laugh that left him when the cushion connected with his chest was enough to make Dean huff even more.  
______________

Dean was the type who would pride himself in being able to close off so much crap, bury it under layers and layers of skin and never let it resurface. It would simmer and pour out of him in small bursts for self destruction. Wether it was drinking, fighting or the occasional secret cigarette. He rather claw his own eyes out than let anyone into his own personal hell.

So when Bray hear's a hushed conversation, can feel Dean pacing back and forth and trying to control what seems like another burst of his personal hell; well he just knows this one has to be bad.

Bad enough for him to hurl his cellphone against the wall.  
Slam his fists into said wall, a growl of desperation leaving him.

It feels almost mechanical how Bray walks over to him, wrapping his arms around him to pin his arms down. The restraint makes Dean breath hard, like a trapped animal. His skin feels too warm, breath coming in ragged, nostrils flared. Bray's grip is vice like, lips resting on the others shoulder. Its so alien for him, to comfort the other because he's never known a comforting word in his life and containing a storm like Dean is suicide. 

"…She never fucking wanted me…She never fucking did, not fucking once and she fucking calls me up and begs me for money and I know, I just know…" His words are raspy, voice breaking between pauses and from the way he's trembling Bray knows this is far more worse than he's dealt with before. Dean isn't really supporting himself anymore, he's letting the other do the standing for the two of them. There's regret and disgust so palpable it makes him sick to his stomach.

To think his mother would want something sincere out of him.

To want him, her damn _son_.

A broken noise leaves him, something tragic and purely gut wrenching leaves him and he's just dead weight at this point. He sobs and he feels dirty for doing so, but for some odd comforting reason Bray covers his eyes with his hand giving him some makeshift privacy. He keeps quiet, keeps his other arm around that delicate waist and drops another kiss on the blonds shoulder. Dean's choking up, shaking and Bray's hand is wet with it all. Seconds pass maybe minutes or fuck knows hours could've gone by.

Dean sits against the very wall his rage is imprinted on, eyes, cheeks and nose red with his melancholy. 

"She said Im a mistake, and I've been hearing that all my life but…Tonight is just hurt more than all those times." He runs a forearm over his nose. Bray is sitting next to him, fingers playing with Dean's leg. When Dean's all out of words, tears running down his cheeks every now and then, thats when Bray gets up and scoops him up in his arms. The blond doesn't protest, he just whimpers and lays his head on the others shoulder. And its moments like that when Dean is so small and torn from the inside out that Bray just keeps quiet, because god knows all Dean ever needed was somebody to hear him out.

He doesn't know where to take him, bathroom? bedroom? his little trek in the house is aimless. Dean reaches out and runs a finger over Bray's cheek, it catches the other man's attention.

"Tell me you love me." Dean's voice is small. There's need in those puffy red eyes and rarely does he ever want to hear those words, but fuck does he need them now.

" _I love you_." It's honest.

"…You're not gonna _leave_?" Dean's gaze is glued to Bray's eyes.

 

"Never." Dean can breath a little easier.  
____________

There was so many scars on his body, his reckless indy years had really left their names engraved on his skin.

Tokens.  
Badges.  
Labor of love.

Naturally anybody with the use of their fingers would make sure to touch them, to run along the path of them and kiss them. The ones on his back would get clawed on, threatened to reopen but only because blood was important, as sick as it sounded.

Because theirs was a sick thing. Sprinkled with rare normalcy here and there.

So, when Bray sinks his teeth into Dean's chest, ever close to that sensitive nipple of his, he makes sure he breaks skin. Because when Dean's skin breaks, and the liquid pours from the wounds there's a relief that washes over the blond. When he sees the wound, his teeth mark so prominent and signifying his territory it makes his heart swell up with so much joy. 

If he could fuck Dean for the rest of forever he would. He'd consume him and spit him out and use him again cause every inch of Dean was his and his alone. Dean returns the favor, kissing the brunette rough and angry yet loving and pleading. He tugs on Bray's bottom lip until he feels blood, his tongue laps at it right before he throws his head back with a moan, Bray thrusting just the right angle, just the right spot. Nails run down the others back and Dean likes to think he claws hard enough to fuck up the tattoo, but his nails come away with blood mostly. His lips find those freckled shoulders and he bites down hard when Bray starts to push into him harder and deeper, merciless yet ever so loving somehow.

Dean turns his face away, grinning when Bray starts to whisper into his ear, always delighted with the fucks and whore's. He's so painfully hard, cock dripping and the friction front their bodies is making him squirm. "Fucking touch me." Dean groans out, hands trying to reach between their bodies but it only gets his arms pinned above his head.

Because Bray wants him to cum, like this.  
With only his cock. 

And maybe everybody is right, maybe he's lying with the devil because this is worthy of the fiery pits of hell. To burn eternally in it.

So long as he gets to cum he's fine with it.

" _Hurt me, fuck please_.." Dean mouthes, eyes rolling up slightly. The hand not pinning his wrists scratches down Dean's chest, slow and deliberately, the red welts popping up rather quickly and causing him to groan. 

The rooms barely illuminated save for some candles around them, the floor being their bed tonight. Dean catches sight of one of the candles, as it comes to him and soon enough hot wax is being poured onto his chest. He hisses and thrashes slightly, clamping down harder on Bray who in turn moans. The next dribble is so close to his cock, so close its twitches but instead its poured around his belly button. Dean desperately wants to use his hands, to claw at Bray but the vice grip on them surely means he'll have some good bruises. With the candle now back to its original spot, Bray allows Dean the luxury of using his hands again, they quickly entangle themselves in his brown locks tugging and pulling.

And Dean is cussing out, moaning so loud and beautifully being torn apart. When he starts to cum, back arching, hand pulling Bray by the hair he makes sure to tense up enough to force the other to tip over; and fuck does he. Dean feels nails digging into his rear, lips at his neck and a groan that goes so lovely with his own moans.

The wreck, the damage its all hellish and perfect.

When the high subsides, brain begins to function and the ache of ones limbs are throbbing significantly. Thats when Dean catches his breath, watching the brunette clean the mess off his stomach. The kisses peppered on his navel lull him but he doesn't forget, he reaches to where his jeans lay and rummages through a pocket, pulling a cigarette and the very lighter used for the candles. "Allow me this one, because I fucking swear you came in my brain, I need to balance it out." He's got his lips around the stick, thumb about to flick the lighter when the other pulls it from his mouth. He came so close to protesting but his words fail him when he sees Bray hold the cigarette with his own lips, hand reaching for one of the candles and successfully lighting it. Dean stares mesmerized as the other blows smoke from his nostrils and hands the lit cigarette back to Dean's lips.

"I was a dumb 15 year old once" He props himself on his elbow, half laying on his side, other half still sort of on Dean. The blond's brows were furrowed, soft puffs coming out through his own nose. Dean moves about slightly, until he too his propped up on his elbow, inhaling and passing it over to Bray. "Do it again." He exhales the words along with the smoke. Dean watches again fascinated as the brunette takes the cigarette and inhales, exhaling downwards. "You motherfucker, all the grief you'd given me." Dean's grinning and giving that goofy laugh of his. Bray can't help but chuckle, taking one more drag and leaning into Dean's lips and exhaling it into the others mouth.

"I fucking love you." Dean exhales out in rivulets of smoke. He's sure is the post-orgasm high that has him lose enough to say it but he still feels his stomach do flops.

The kiss that follows suit is all he needs anyways. This right here is all he needs anyways.


End file.
